


hold me down to catch this vision

by benzedrine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 12:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12557104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benzedrine/pseuds/benzedrine
Summary: Can you catch me when I'm falling down?





	hold me down to catch this vision

**Author's Note:**

> a lil warning before i begin: there's literally no explicit mentions of anything but this is basically just a very short burst of fic where a character is vaguely discussing past struggles with self-harm and suicidal ideation. having said this, these notes are more detailed about it than the fic itself, but of course if these themes are a problem for you - avoid this fic. title is taken from a my chemical romance song, all mistakes are my own and i hope you enjoy this! :)

It feels more intimate than all the times they’ve had sex, letting Harry touch him _here_ like this. It’s not much more than soft caresses, but it’s so close, too fucking close for comfort. He’s letting Harry touch a part of himself only one other before him has, and fuck. He knows that this should be fine, Harry’s seen worse, shown him worse, even. But showing Harry _this_ part of himself makes Draco feel as though his bones are too big for his body, like he’s being stretched too tight, his body a prison.

And Harry just keeps his hand there – somehow so big and strong and a real, dark contrast to the pale skin of Draco’s wrist – his thumb just rubbing away in loose circles against the raised flesh. He hasn’t said a word, not yet. Draco lets himself lean into the touch, lets himself rest his cheek against Harry’s shoulder, and Harry’s free arm wrap itself around his middle.

“You don’t think any less of me, do you?” He can’t bring himself to look at Harry; he knows that if he has to look into Harry’s annoyingly earnest eyes while he says whatever it is he’s thinking, he’ll probably end up crying.

“Hey,” Harry says in reply, “I could never think less of you, not because of this. I’ve seen you at your worst, remember? I was fucking there, in his head, watching you sometimes. To be honest, I’m not _not_ surprised about this, you know? I’d’ve probably done the same if I’d been you.”

“It was before,” Draco hears himself mumbling into Harry, “You wouldn’t have done any such thing, and it was before all of that.”

The hand Harry has tucked in against Draco’s waist joins the other in rubbing soothing circles against Draco’s skin while Draco opens up years-old parts of himself, just for Harry. He finds himself telling Harry about things he hadn’t even begun to think about himself, about the all-consuming pressure he had always felt because of his status as a Malfoy, about how he had never felt comfortable in his own skin, about how his father had threatened to take him out of Hogwarts if he didn’t give up ‘his habit’, and about how uncomfortable he was feeling in the here and now telling Harry about all of this.

Harry sat quietly and listened through it all, just letting Draco speak. He lets Draco cry against him, lets him talk about how alone he felt for so long, even though he had Pansy and Blaise and Theo, and even Vince and Greg, right there with him. He listens as Draco just keeps talking and talking; after having kept it all in for so long, everything he had felt was now spilling out of him, like a dam with a crack in it. He tells Harry about all of the nights he thought would be his last, both before and during the war, and all the things he wished so desperately he were able to change.

Mostly he tells Harry about how much he _has_ changed, about how this emptiness and sadness is still inside of him, but how he has managed to tame it into something less all-consuming, something less fierce and immediate. He talks and talks at Harry, about the exhilaration and fear he felt that day in the bathroom during sixth year, and about how he had been ready for Azkaban for months before the trials had begun.

He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until Harry pulls him into a fierce, tight hug and just keeps whispering away at him, letting Draco cry great, huge sobs against him.

“If you ever need to talk about anything, and I mean it, Draco, anything, you can always come to me. Day, night, somewhere in between, it’s all fine. If you ever want to talk to a professional about anything that’s troubling you, someone who can give you better help and support than I can, then I can do my best to help you with that, too. I just want you safe and happy and _alive_ with me, maybe forever.

I can’t promise I’ll always understand what’s going on with you, but then I know you can’t promise the same for me either, and that’s okay. We don’t need to be in perfect sync at all times. I care about you so, so much, Draco, I fucking _love_ you, and if you’re ever, ever, _ever_ feeling even the tiniest bit upset, I want to try and help you.”

Draco could tell by the fierce protectiveness in Harry’s voice that he wouldn’t have to tell him about all the times he’s heard this before, all the broken promises and subtle rejections he’s faced over the years.

He still feels tightly wound up and stretched too thin, but his shoulders are relaxing themselves and his mouth is parting with ease against Harry’s. Things will get easier, he thinks to himself. He will get better with time.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated!! :)


End file.
